


Inadequate

by khal_blaine



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s05e16 Tested, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York City, Self Confidence Issues, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khal_blaine/pseuds/khal_blaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaction fic to spoilers from “Tested” (Glee 5x16), written before the episode. Blaine is self-conscious about his recent weight gain and feels that it shows how he’s losing control over his life because he’s not used to living in NYC yet. Featuring emotionally supportive Kurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inadequate

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written from a [prompt I received on Tumblr](http://khal-blaine.tumblr.com/post/81158672886/inadequate-blangst-klaine).

“Out of my way, fat ass. Go work on your ‘Freshman 15’ somewhere else.”

It was just one comment. One quick insult while the NYADA halls pulsed with a crowd of students—young dreamers, Broadway hopefuls, and star-power performers who ruled their high schools just like he had—rushing on their way to rehearsals, classes, and vocal lessons. He didn’t even know the upperclassman that spat the dozen words at him and barreled through the gap that formed as he took a step to the side in shock, but the disgust in his tone was enough to make Blaine’s stomach twist. It was just a throw-away insult that had probably been sent his way at random, but it was still enough to make Blaine toss his daily pre-dance-rehearsal snack in the next garbage can he passed.

Even after an exhausting hour of sweating through the studio at the mercy (or lack thereof) of Miss July’s loud commands—working harder than usual to burn calories more than focusing on his routine—Blaine still felt the weight of the harsh words on him. They followed him all the way on his commute back to Bushwick. He felt like he was taking up too much space on the sidewalk. On the subway he leaned as far away from the other commuters as he could, and when the doors finally opened to let him out into the station, Blaine sprinted up the steps onto the street and didn’t stop jogging until the apartment building came into view.

Kurt’s shift at the diner would have him busy for at least another half hour. Rachel was at rehearsal for Funny Girl, as always. The rest Blaine couldn’t quite remember (turned out it was hard enough to memorize his and Kurt’s schedules in this busy city; there was no way to keep tabs on all of his friends), but the important thing was that Blaine had the loft to himself for a while—a rare blessing, or a curse, perhaps. Either way, there was plenty of time for him to knock through a music theory assignment or two.

With the papers strewn in front of him, Blaine’s pencil eraser tapped an anxious rhythm against the tabletop. He looked down at the pages with a determined, serious expression, but no matter how hard he stared, the words refused to process and make proper sense. The blank staves on his staff paper mocked him, and though he desperately tried to ignore it, Blaine could almost hear the laughter of the exam in his bookbag—the fat _73_ scrawled on it in red ink whispering in his ear: _not good enough._

_Valedictorian? Class president? Not anymore._

_Failure._

_Fat ass._

Two minutes later, Blaine stood at a full-length mirror propped up against the wall, hesitantly lifting up his shirt. Maybe he had gone a little overboard on the stress eating of those unfairly delicious ‘cronut’ creations lately… Okay, fine. Maybe he’d gone overboard on stress eating lately, period. Even with as much dancing and unavoidable exercise as he’d been getting, Blaine had still been carrying a noticeably heavier belly with him in the last few weeks. He pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger before quickly grimacing at the sight and pulling his shirt back down to hide it. The scale in the bathroom tugged on his mind, but he wasn’t curious enough to go look at the numbers he knew would be higher than he was used to.

The move to New York hadn’t been the sparkling dream he’d anticipated, truth be told. It was his own fault for letting fantasy get the best of him, but after seeing the way Kurt had thrived here, Blaine couldn’t help but feel that maybe it really _was_ as easy as the movies made it seem. He would graduate from high school, jet off to New York, move in with his fiancé, and attend the school of his dreams. The visions had all been so clear: Sex, coffee, Central Park duets, Broadway matinees, cheesecake and pizza by the slice. Thundering into NYADA with confidence built from his time in both New Directions and the Warblers and taking the school by storm. Impromptu group performances in the hallways, slaying Miss July’s dance rehearsals every afternoon, impressing his classmates with his eclectic tastes in music (and fashion), and feeling at home in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately for Blaine, his fantasies had done nothing but plague him for the last month as most of them fell through the cracks and were replaced with the harsh reality and differences between the light, Ohio high school life he’d left and the cutthroat, New York adulthood he now faced.

He’d been on a downward spiral ever since he’d stepped off the plane with one hand in Kurt’s and the other holding tight to his carry-on luggage. It had taken him a while to realize that things weren’t going to go according to his plans, but as soon as he’d realized it, Blaine had fallen into a hazy panic. That unease hadn’t left him alone for weeks now.

“Honey?”

Blaine jolted at the sound of Kurt’s voice, spinning around on the floor with one hand still awkwardly poised on the hem of his shirt, holding it down as if he feared the fabric wouldn’t cover his stomach on its own. He dropped the hand to his side now, wiping sweaty palms as discreetly as he could against the denim that had recently begun feeling tighter than it ever had before.

“H-Hey,” he grinned, voice unconvincingly bright, “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Kurt’s head gave a slight tilt to the side, studying him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The lie fell from his lips as automatically as a tripped burglar alarm. Kurt’s face clearly showed that he didn’t buy it, and Blaine sighed, giving in quickly. “Just had a rough day. Again.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“You haven’t even changed out of your work clothes yet, Kurt. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do, too.”

“I always have time for you, Blaine.” Kurt’s response was soft but certain, and the accompanying smile was more than enough to break Blaine’s weak reserves. He nodded and let Kurt pull him to the couch, but sat a few inches farther away from him than usual. “I don’t know if I can handle this, Kurt,” Blaine admitted.

“Handle what, honey?” The statement was too vague for Kurt to understand. He rubbed a hand down Blaine’s thigh, coaxing the details out of his mouth.

Blaine gestured with his whole arms, giving them a wide wave through the air. “Just… _everything._ New York. NYADA… I’ve been stumbling every step of the way, and I just can’t help thinking, what if— What if I’m not good enough?”

“Don’t say that,” Kurt frowned, forehead creased with worry, “You know everyone has to go through a period of adjustment with big changes like this.”

“Adjusting has never been this hard for me, though,” he admittedly shyly, “How am I supposed to know if it’s really a period of adjustment or if I’m just not meant to be here like I thought?”

“You _are,_ Blaine. I know that. You know that. Everyone that’s ever met you knows that,” Kurt let out a little chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

The words began to form on his lips before Blaine could stop them, “I’m getting fat, Kurt. I’m getting fat, and I’m making C’s in music theory, and I’m eating so much damned junk food, and everyone at NYADA is so talented, I—I don’t stand out anywhere. I’m just like all the rest of them, except instead of being fit and confident, I’m losing my grip and gaining weight, and I feel so—” a sharp intake of breath cut him off, “—so inadequate.”

The clunky vocabulary word tacked onto the end of his breathless admission immediately reminded Kurt of the boy he met at Dalton, hiding behind the posh uniform and preppy, private school image that went along with it. The tears that slipped down his cheeks, however, were a promise that the Blaine he knew now was too firmly rooted to the ground to ever be completely lost again, no matter how much he tried to close himself off.

When Kurt urged him closer, “Come here,” Blaine’s resistance caved in a heartbeat. He gave up the distance between them and leaned into Kurt’s chest. Kurt’s arms curled lovingly around his middle, one hand pausing for a moment to stroke Blaine’s stomach through his shirt. He kissed Blaine’s temple, feeling the muscles beneath his skin taut with stress.

“Listen to me, sweetie, okay?” Kurt felt more than he saw Blaine’s nod. “You can’t be so afraid of failure that you give up on trying to succeed.” Blaine sniffled, relaxed a bit in Kurt’s arms. “I—I _know_ how hard it is to come here and try to make a brand new start. I had to adjust to everything, too, and it was so much harder than I’d thought. You just didn’t see all of it.” The vague reference to their period of separation was enough to make Blaine clutch his fiancé tighter. Kurt kissed him again, pressing his lips against still-gelled hair that tickled his nose with the scent of raspberry.

“I promise you, you’re more than enough for this city, Blaine. I _promise._ ”

“And you’d love me even if I was fat, right?”

The question was so innocently spoken, laced with pain and self-doubt, that Kurt could hardly keep the tears out of his own eyes. “A softer belly does not mean you’re fat, Blaine,” he murmured, “And you already know the answer to that question, honey.” As a reminder, Kurt pressed the smooth edge of his engagement ring to the side of Blaine’s face, brushing it across his cheek.

With another sigh, lighter this time, Blaine lifted his head from Kurt’s chest and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Still nice to hear it sometimes,” he insisted.

“I’ll always love you, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt vowed, “Even when I’m balding and you’re grey, when we’ve both got fashionable bifocals, millions of laugh lines, and bellies that’ve gotten so soft from 80-anniversaries’ worth of cheesecake and champagne that they rival memory foam pillows in terms of comfort level.”

Blaine’s watery laugh was music to Kurt’s ears. He settled back against Kurt’s chest for another long minute, breathing calm while Kurt’s fingers scratched his back. “Thank you.”

“…for what?”

“Everything.”


End file.
